


What's the story?

by tafih



Category: Daredevil (TV), Jessica Jones (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Journalism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Belligerent Sexual Tension, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bisexual Tony Stark, Bruce Banner/Thor - Freeform, Daily Bugle, Daytime News AU, F/M, Found Family, Gen, Loki/Grandmaster - Freeform, M/M, Morning Glory (2010) - Freeform, News Media, Slight Stony tension, TV News, Television, Television Anchors, Tony Stark Has A Heart, kastle - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-08 00:45:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18884674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tafih/pseuds/tafih
Summary: Karen Page is a down-on-her-luck aspiring news producer, who got fired.Which, yeah, sounds bad, but she might get her next break at MCB, one of the renowned news broadcasting networks in the world. The catch is that it is with their daytime news show, the Daily Bugle.Unfortunately, the DB has been stuck in ratings purgatory for years and now it is up to her to make things right, even if that means making the co-anchors play nice.





	1. Chapter 1

Karen has been on exactly seven dates since she broke up with Matt and he ran off with that obtusely hot Greek socialite, literally, 12 hours afterwards.

_Yeah, no, she’s not bitter about that at all._

But she still does love him as a person and she can get beers now with him and Foggy without things getting awkward. Since it has been three years.

“Shit, it’s been three years already?” she mutters under her breath.

“Pardon?” her date asks from across the table.

Her head jerks up and she laughs nervously. “Sorry! I just got sidetracked and yeah, so - uh - Jennifer told me you’re in - uh - what was it?”

“Marketing,” they both say at the same time when Karen finally remembers.

"Right." She laughs again, to try to fill the air in the empty restaurant. But it does not help, the atmosphere is stilted, stuffy, and strange.

“Thanks again for being willing to meet with me so early. I know it’s a pain-”

“Oh, no, that’s -” he stops himself from saying that it’s okay. Because it really isn’t. She knows this. “Well…”

“Yes, I know. My job the problem. I'm... I work at _Good Morning, Alba_ -”

“ _Good Morning, Albany_ , on Channel Nine, right?” he talks over her.

“Yes.” She pauses for a bit to force a smile. She hates it when people talk over her. “So, yeah, we're on really early, so I...I go to bed really early and we used to be on at, 5am, but then we got bought by this giant company and they-”

She is cut off by her phone ringing that obnoxious default ringtone that she deliberately kept so that she would always feel compelled to answer it. She closes her eyes and feels her face pinch together in a mix of embarrassment and frustration. “Sorry, I'm gonna turn this off.” She paws at her purse until she unearths her cell to see _ELLISON_ flashing on the screen. “Sorry - this is my boss-”

“Take it,” he concedes.

“Really? Thanks. It’ll just be a sec.”

From his expression, Mr. She-Actually-Just-Forgot-His-Name probably will not ask her on a second date. But she actually does not mind. 

Oh, well.

* * *

That was April.

* * *

In May, she gets fired. 

* * *

_It’s been such a stellar year._

* * *

So Ellison loves her. She knows that and she also knows why he had to let her go, with budget cuts and overhead and other things, but she is also slightly suspicious if part of it’s because she didn’t go on a third date with his nephew. But that’s by the by.

She can make the rent for the rest of her lease, but then she’s screwed. So she sends out her resume to 23 different studios, and maybe one to Starbucks just as a last resort.

Then she sends out her resume again to those same studios.

She calls and calls and emails and emails. And her set-in-stone move out date is approaching closer and closer.  

But nothing seems to stick. Until...

“Hi, this is Edwin Gast calling from MCB in New York. How are you?”

The Grandmaster, himself, calls her. “Oh shit, yes, hello! Hi.”

“Listen, I'm calling 'cause I received your resume, all five of them, actually. And it just so happens, that we're looking for somebody at the moment.”

“I'll take it.”

“Well, wait, I haven't told you what it is yet.”

“Sorry.”

“Well, our morning show has a vacancy and so…”

She shouts over him, “I'll take it!”

He laughs, “We're interviewing a bunch of people. Maybe you can come in and we can have a talk.”

“Sure! Absolutely. Just tell me where to go and who to talk to.”

“OK, I'll get you an email with the details of where we are in the city. And shall we say 3:00?”

“Thank you, thank you!” And she means it with all of her heart.

* * *

Gast’s secretary is a stocky, frowning female from New Zealand; and she takes Karen up to the offices without a single word except, “He’s in there.”

So then she walks in and Edwin Gast waves her in. She is wearing her go-to interview outfit: her favorite dark navy pencil skirt and the cerulean top with the flouncy collar. She sets her bag down by her chair and takes her seat. 

“Ellison says you're very talented and you work incredibly hard. Says you're the most promising producer that he's ever fired.”

“Well, that's, that's good. I think.”

“So you're a fan of our morning program?”

“Yeah, I think it has so many…” Her enthusiasm dies subtly.

“Yeah, yeah, we know it's terrible,” Gast allows, in decent humor. “Perpetually in fourth place behind the Today show, Good Morning America and that thing on CBS, whatever it's called. It's a source of constant humiliation. Last year, in the network softball league, the CBS team wore hats that said,’At least we're not DB.’”

Karen winces a bit at that. That seems distasteful for a large broadcasting network to do, even if it was just at a bunch of private softball games.

Gast continues, “The anchors of the show are difficult and/or semi-talented.”

“Steve Rogers is a pro.”

He shrugs.

“Dorothy Walker is a... _fine_ reporter.”

“Foul,” he seethes.

“Okay,” Karen makes her stand, “Is the Bugle a shitty show? Yes.” He stalls a bit to look at her, obviously stunned by her forwardness. But at least she has his attention. “But it's on a network. And not just any network. This is one of the most legendary news divisions in the entire history of media. The Daily Bugle just needs someone who believes in it, who understands that a national platform is an invaluable resource, that no story is too low or too high to reach for.”

“Are you gonna... sing?” He makes a jab at her attempt to be uplifting.

“Look, Mr. Gast-”

He cuts her off, which, again, she hates. “DB’s facilities are antiquated. It's understaffed, underfunded. And the pay. It's awful, about half of what you made at _Hey, How The Hell Are You, Albany?_ ” He looks down at her resume. She hopes it’s the fifth one. “You've never been an executive producer. You're too young. Nobody's ever heard of ya. And here, your education, Fagan Corners University, also known as Fairly Ridiculous University.”

He looks up, like the fabulous peacock he probably thinks he is. “Did I miss anything?”

She takes in a big breath and musters up the right words. The words she would like to hear from someone else, one day, but today, she’ll just say it herself. “The Daily Bugle needs what I need, someone who believes that it can succeed.” Her voice breaks a bit. “Trust me, I know you don't have any reason to believe in me, but I work harder than anyone else. I'm in first, I'm out last. I actually got into Georgetown but I didn’t go because of personal issues.” She waves that off; she really shouldn’t bring up that now.

Oh, _Lord_ , why did she bring that up?  

She huffs out, “I know a shitload more about the news than someone whose daddy paid them to smoke bongs and talk semiotics at Harvard and I devote myself completely to my job. It's what I do. It's all I am. I...You can ask anyone.”

He sizes her up for a second, then says, “Well, that's... embarrassing.”

She built up her spirits for this and that all it takes to crumble down is that one comment. Karen Page purses her lips and says, “Okay.” She stands and grabs her bag. “Thanks for the tour, and... thanks for... for…” She makes it to his office door and without even looking at him, because part of her knows that she might cry if she does. So she just whispers out, “Thank you for your time.”

She makes it to the elevator without taking a single breath and when the doors open all she can do is beeline to the back and bang her head on the poster of Ben Urich.

“It's these buttons right here.” a gruff voice states from behind her.

She turns suddenly and almost walks into the guy. “Oh, I-I’m sorry,” she stutters before looking up and seeing him, he who looks like he walked off the cast of Jersey Shore, except he wears a sports coat. Not that Karen is complaining, this particular guy pulls it off _exceedingly_ well.

And he’s not even wearing a tie.

“Lobby?” he asks, already pushing the button then taking a sip of his coffee.

“Uh, yeah,” she mutters, trying not to focus on the catastrophe that is her life or the fact that elevator guy should not be allowed to make drinking coffee look that sexy.

“Shitty day?” he asks, his timbre is low and gravelly.

She nods slowly and heavily, her shame rising up and over her again. “Pretty much,” she chuckles facetiously. “I talked too much. Ruined it.”

Then, just as the elevator doors are going to close, a hand breaks through and forces them to open again, revealing Mr. Tony “Ironman” Stark.

* * *

At first, she can’t believe it.

She thinks she’s caught in a dream.

Is she really in an elevator with _the_ Ironman?

“Sir,” she startles out. She bets her eyes are shooting stars. “I am such a huge admirer of yours. I'm a... I'm a big, huge fan. I... growing up. I… Of all the anchors, you were, by far, the greatest reporter. I mean when you were in Gulmira,” she is almost touching him at this point, and she puts her hand over her chest. “ _I_ was in Gulmira.”

Tony Stark, in response to her overt fangirling, just gives her his trademark smirk across his face. He turns to the other guy, “She yours?”

Other guy shakes his head. “I'm just here to teach her how to use the elevator.”

Then Tony Stark looks at her.

 _Dear Lord,_ Tony Stark is looking at her.

“You know,” he says, smooth and silky like a cup of hot cocoa on a snowday. “I’d offer to take a selfie, sweetheart, but I’m not really picture-perfect at the moment.”

Karen looks down and sees, for the first time since she was so caught up just _being_ in the same space as the Ironman, that he is sporting a lovely cast over his left arm.

She falters. “Yes, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

“May I?” he asks when the elevator hits the lobby and the doors open.

“Oh, God, sorry. I...Of course, of course,” she mutters, nearly gushing, really. She steps aside and lets him walk past. “Oh, my God, he looks damn good for fifty. I can't believe I just met the Ironm-Wait a second.” She turns to the other guy just as he’s getting off. “You know him.”

The man shrugs, “Who doesn’t know Ironman?” and walks away.

Still caught in her stupid, Karen marinates in that a bit but then the doors start to close and she digs her hands in the middle so that they crush her hands for a second.

But what are crushed hands compared to crushed hopes and dreams?

Karen leaves the building, her stupor now consisting of her thoughts on the growing list of failures. She can add “Messing up your first impression with your hero” onto her list.

And the interview from two minutes ago.

She walks up to one of the garbage bins and tosses her guest name tag into it. Then her cell rings.

It is Gast. 

“Hello?”

“Karen Page?” Mr. Gast’s voice asks over the phone.

“Yes?” she responds tentatively.

“You sure you can do this job?”

Her heart starts beating. _No way._ “Yes,” she asserts, rallying her confidence in this one syllable. Then, she waits for his reply.  

“You start on Monday.”

The interview can go on the other list now. Her body fills with a genial warmth. “Thank you.”

Then, she hangs up and quietly squeals, “YES!”

* * *

_Oh, shoot._

She needs to find an apartment.


	2. Chapter 2

So her flatmates are kind of intense. 

One is a Sokovian-American grad student with amazing hair and a penchant for the color red; and the other is a P.I. who drinks  _ way  _ too much. 

But, they’re decently quiet and keep to themselves and they allow her to afford an apartment in NYC. 

She’ll take them over Todd Neiman anyday. 

* * *

On Monday, she sits in the lobby on a bench right next to the security desk.

“Are you interviewing at the Bugle?” the security guard asks her. He’s an older man, with a square face and matching square glasses. His name tag reads, “Stan Lieber”. 

She nods, eagerly. 

“Assistant? Intern?”

“No. Actually, I'm the new executive producer.” She points at her own name tag. 

He huffs, “Another one, huh?” which doesn’t help her spirits. “Don't unpack,” he warns. 

Then, thankfully, “Miss Page?”

A short, stocky man approaches her with grey fluffy hair and soft features. 

“Bruce Banner, Senior Producer,” he introduces himself with a hand. 

She takes it with a smile, and stands, practically towering over him. “Yes. I know who you are.”

Banner looks a bit shocked and maybe a percentage flattered. 

So she explains his life story to him, “You started out at WABC. You were at CBS for two years and here for 13.”

“Yeah, wow,” Banner says, turning sheepish. Then gesturing for her to follow him. 

“I have one question. Why haven't they promoted you?” she asks when they start walking. 

“It's not for me,” he admits after a few stalling moments. “I did it for a couple of weeks once, but they put me back at number two. Apparently, the crying was distracting. You'll love it, though,” he notes at the end, as if he were being forced to say so with a gun pointed at his head. 

“Our morning meetings are at five,” he explains as they make their way down the labyrinthine stairwells and hallways to their lovely corner of the building. 

“Isn't that kind of late?” she asks, while they walk through a room full of props and Christmas decorations.

“Late?”

“I mean, it's just that...at the Today show, the senior staff is usually in by 4:30,” she clarifies. 

Bruce manages to toss her a smile. “We're just like the Today show, except, you know, without the money, viewers, respect. But very similar.”

“Okay,” she mutters then wonders if everyone at MCB is self-deprecating. She reaches for a doorknob and it falls to pieces at her touch. 

“OK? That's…” Bruce just stares at it with such complacent irritation, in that the sigh he emits shows he is annoyed but he just cannot handle it this Monday morning. “That's one of our good doorknobs.”

They make it past the control room as Bruce continues to list off some varying tidbits, then he goes, “Dorothy has been here forever. Don't mention that.”

“Okay.”

“But Steve is paid more. Don't mention that, either.”

Karen grimaces. 

“They hate each other. I mean, Steve is “civil-” and here Banner actually uses air-quotes. “About the fact that she puts her hands all over him. Don't mention that.”

_ Oh dear.  _

“And she keeps trying to get him drunk and into bed with her. Do not mention that.”

“Got it.”

“After you talk to Steve…”

“Yeah?”

“Make sure you get me before you talk to Walker, so I can go with you.”

“Why?”

“I don't...She’s... I would just trust me on this one,” he provides then walks off, leaving her by herself by the door of Mr. Steve Rogers’ dressing room. 

She knocks on his door tentatively. 

“Come in,” a remarkably somewhat upbeat voice replies from inside. 

“Hi? Steve Rogers?” she asks as she creeps in to see him, on his couch, looking through a newspaper. 

“Oh, you must be the new EP. Welcome,” he says warmly as he stands, an actual and genuine smile on his face. 

She takes it with a keen sense of gratitude. 

At least there is one person in MCB who isn’t mired in the mud. 

* * *

Steven Grant Rogers is everything Karen expects and more.

He is what many 60 y.o. women call, “a tall drink of water.” And, well, he is. Objectively. 

Pushing 45, Rogers has taken obvious good care of his body and health. And his smile can give anyone under the sun a toothache and diabetes. 

He wears slacks and a slightly form-fitting dress shirt. His room is clean and orderly, but that only draws more attention to the shabbiness of the walls. The coffee table is lined with folded newspapers and magazines; and there is a large sketchbook laid on one half of the couch. 

“How’s your first day going?” he asks her, as a real and sincere question. 

“Oh, well, things haven’t really started yet so we’ll find out in several hours, huh?” 

He laughs a true and honest laugh. 

She likes him instantly. 

Karen did not follow his career as closely as she did Tony Stark’s but Rogers is well known to possess an old-school charm complemented by intensely liberal views. He had a career in throwaway military-sponsored films as an action hero in his teens and twenties, which colored his perception of how America spends more than 50% of all federal discretionary funding. 

Then, in the early nineties, he came out as bisexual. 

He couldn’t book a “real gig” since. 

But despite all the media scandals and the gross sensationalism made at his expense, he found his home on daytime television and became a hit with local gay communities and 93% of most stay-at-home moms, according to polls. “But only for the chance the camera catches his ass,” is a direct quote from many,  _ many _ people.  

This building is full of too many good-looking men, Karen notes internally. It is bound to be a problem in HR. 

“I’m not going to lie,” Steve says, his hands perching in his pockets. “Things can get messy here. Our budget’s crap and well, everything else is too,” he chuckles in good nature. “But we’re all pretty close here and I hope you get to stick around. See what kind of family we are.” 

“Oh, well, yeah, me too,” Karen responds, pleasantly surprised by his comment. “I really am looking forward to working with you, Mr. Rogers.” 

“Oh, please, call me Steve. People will get me confused with the real  _ Mister Rogers _ and I couldn’t do that to him.” 

“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind,” Karen quips, grinning. “Well, I should go and introduce myself to Mrs. Walker, then. Thanks for your time-”

“Oh, don’t call her missus,” Steve notes, suddenly full of austerity. “She hates that.” 

Karen braces herself as she steps out. “She sounds wonderful.” 

“You have no idea,” Steve whispers with a pained laugh. 

* * *

She really had no idea.

* * *

The first thing Dorothy Walker says to her is, “Oh, well, your face is alright. That explains a lot. I mean, a twenty-something as an EP, but  _ honey _ ,” then scrutinizes her legs. “What are you, a size 8?”

“I-” Karen compels herself to remain professional. “Hi, Ms. Walker, I’m your new EP, Karen Page.” 

Dorothy returns to her vanity mirror and taps her crows feet. “I know,” she mutters, with condescension. “Do you know how many EP's I've had in the past 5 years?” 

Before Karen can answer, she already says, “ _ Eight _ . If they're stupid, they get fired, and if they're smart, they quit. And now look what I get. Well…” Then she scoffs and gives Karen another once-over. 

“It's a pleasure to…” Karen tries to start an actual conversation. It will actually be a great pleasure to leave. 

“You think it's fun being in last place? Do you think I enjoy working for a network that spends more on one episode of a dating show about a bachelor dwarf blacksmith than our entire weekly budget?”

“No…” Karen mutters. She scans the room and it is the exact opposite of Steve’s: messy, smelly, and hosts a layer of knick-knacks, wrappers, and half-drunk coconut waters. 

“Now, I’m a  **_highly_ ** empathetic person. Since I’m a  _ Libra _ , you know. I know that everyone's been through a lot, and I know that there's been so many challenges along the way. But, you know…” she trails off, her eyes -  **again** \- scanning Karen like she’s a rotten avocado that she paid seven dollars for at Whole Foods. “You will fail like everyone else and then you'll be gone, like everyone else. But I will still be here, pulling the train up the hill with my teeth, because I am the only one holding this shitshow together.” 

“Oh, well, I think that-”

“I used to be on the news, as a guest, you know?” 

“Yes, I-”

“Ugh, the only thing that makes it worth it is Rogers’ arms. Have you felt them? Yumm. He’s  _ delicious _ .” 

So, over the weekend, when she wasn’t unpacking, Karen looked at old reels of Dorothy Walker. In her youth, she had been a child star and went by “Dee Dee,” but things obviously did not go well for her in the entertainment industry. In all honesty, Karen thinks things should not have gone well for her in broadcasting either. 

On screen, Walker is histrionic, old, racist, sexist (somehow), stilted, and discomforting to watch when she is on screen. And it’s DAYTIME television, most of it is supposed to be a little cringey. 

Then, of all things, as if Karen weren’t there, Walker pulls out a tablet and starts watching gay porn. 

* * *

Karen prays for the first time in years.

* * *

She immediately finds Bruce again. “So I talked to Walker.”

“What?”

“And she’s...yeah,” 

“Yeah, wait til you see her sober,” he mutters. 

Karen makes a full-stop. “She’s  _ worse _ when she’s sober?” 

“Depends on how you define worse.” 

Then a Korean kid with great hair inserts himself into their space and says, “Boss, everyone’s ready,” to Bruce. Then he turns to Karen and declares, pointedly, “Hi, I’m Amadeus.” 

“Hi,” Karen replies, a little distracted by his sudden appearance and by what Bruce had just said about the most awful person she has ever met in her entire life. 

“Ammy’s my assistant,” Bruce explains. “Yours is slinging around here somewhere.”

“Here! I’m here,” a teenager chirps, flailing around a bit as he navigates through the crowded space to join them. “I’m Peter Parker. It’s so nice to meet you. I got the job same time as you, actually. Well, really a few days before you. I saw you in the hallway when you came to interview but-”

“Peter,” Bruce warns, well-meaning. 

“Right, sorry.”

This whole time as she watches this down-right adorable child cheep and chatter like a little robin, she is thinking about one thing. “Can we... _ afford  _ you?” she whispers. 

“Oh, I’m not paid. Just an intern. I’m still in high school so yeah,” Peter provides, without a shred of discouragement. 

“I’m paid,” Amadeus notes, without emotion just as he walks away. 

“Hey,” Bruce chides, following after him. “His mom is Helen, if that explains anything,” he shouts at Karen as he walks further down the hall. 

“Explains the weird swagger,” Karen comments, remembering that Helen Cho is MBC’s primetime News Anchor and used to be a correspondent for 60 Minutes. She’s heard she is lovely but that her kids are intense. 

“You should meet his sister,” Peter quips. 

They share a smile before heading into the meeting room. She gets a few introductions before sitting at the head of the table, crowded by Banner and some other staff. 

“Hi, everyone. Hi, I'm Karen.”

There are sparse greetings in the throng as people take their spots. 

“And look who’s not here,” Ammy japes quietly as everyone takes their seats.  

Karen looks around, even though she has a very good idea who is missing. “Where’s Dorothy?”

Bruce sidles up next to her in his squeaky swivel chair. “Yeah, well, Ms. Walker doesn't always come to these things.”

She looks at Peter and says, “Oh, could you tell Dorothy that we need her, please? Thanks.” The kid nods and rushes out. “OK, so let's just dive in, shall we? Who wants to start?”

Someone jumps in with, “Tomorrow Carl Casper wants to make lasagna. I told him we did that last week with Sasha Tran, but he's insisting. What do I do?”

      Someone else suddenly says, “For the segment on miniskirts, do you want all size models?”

“Next week, I want to do a piece on the historical inaccuracies of  _ Hamilton _ . I assure you, it will be incredibly rousing.” 

       “For the Erskine interview, do you want the living room set or the stools?”

“ABC says we can't have Scarlett Johansson until two weeks after she does G.M.A. What do we do?”

       “On psychic animals, would you prefer a racoon or an duck?”

The weatherman holds up three weathervanes. “I'd like to do a piece on weathervanes. They are fascinating. Like did you know the word "vane" comes from the Old English "fana", which means flag or weathercock?”

       “Friday, for cooking shawarma, inside or on the plaza?”

“They're offering us the third lead in the new Chris Pratt movie. Do you want him?”

       “Great story out of Rose Hill about a retirement account scandal. But we got to move quick. Should we send a team or just local talent?”

“...control room's on the fritz. Ten grand to fix it.”

       “For that piece on baby food, do we want an actual baby, and if so, white, black, Hispanic, Asian, blonde hair, brown hair, teeth, or no teeth?”

Sam Wilson, Rogers’ assistant, japes, full of charm, “I have a black baby at home,” and other people laugh. 

Karen starts speaking, a bit overwhelmed. “I'm sorry, I can't hear what you're saying. I…”

Then Dorothy walks in, demanding everyone’s attention with a shrill, “Hello! Hi, _ hi _ .” Then she has the gall to look legitimately peeved. “Does someone wanna tell me why I had to log off HotRods.com for this?”

A beat. 

Someone says, “Asshole,” under their breath. 

Karen lets it all in for a count of three. Then, she goes to work. She points at the first guy and states, “Tell Casper if he insists on making lasagna, he will be bumped. And tell him we can let him promote his food truck if he does change menus.” 

Next one. “Yes, all size models, but skirts not too short.” 

She glares at the greasy version of Keanu Reeves in skin-tight green, “Hamilton? Do you  _ want  _ our viewers to hate us?” and lets that speak for itself. 

Then at the person sitting behind him, she states, “Living room. He has a bad back.” 

She looks to her right. “Tell ScarJo’s people that she can't plug her next film unless we get her within a week of G.M.A.”

Next. “Racoon.” 

She looks straight ahead at the sweet, unassuming weatherman. “Coulson, weathercocks? Seriously?”

“The plaza for shawarma.”

“I want Pratt. Tell his people we'll run him in the first hour and he can talk about whatever his thing is. Rose Hill, definitely local talent.”

She looks at their finances person, “And we've got to fix that sound board. Find ten grand in the budget somewhere. The hair and makeup numbers, those were too high. So, Steve, could you share your hair person with Loki? I think he needs it. That'd be great, great. Okay.”

Then, “Mixed-race baby, no teeth. Lesbian parents. I know a couple. Look into a Maria Rambeau.” She looks around the room and asks, “Did I miss anything? Oh, Dorothy!” Karen shouts after the woman as she makes her leave then turns around.

Karen smiles. “You're fired.”

Dorothy Walker cackles, literally. “You must think you’re hilarious.” 

“Oh, was my size 8 butt not clear?” Karen’s voice is level and unaffected. “You are fired.” 

The intern takes a picture on his phone and the loud snap sends everyone into smiling fits and scoffs of amazement and disbelief. 

“I'm sorry. That was unprofessional,” she says when Walker storms out of the room, but the whole staff just explodes with huge smiles and gratuitous applause. 

Steve grins at her from his spot across the room and mouths, “Welcome to the family.” 

* * *

“Congratulations.”

When Karen makes it to her office, she is greeted by a man in her chair. She is so surprised that she nearly drops her bag. 

The mysterious man continues, twirling a pen in his hand, “The first day, you flushed your anchor and you got no money to pay for another one.” 

“Um, do I know you?” 

His face is as flat as his voice. “And you don’t even know the man paying your salary.” 

“Oh shit,” Karen mutters. “Hello, Mr. Fury. It’s...yes. Hi.”

“Interesting first day?” he asks, his voice only sounding  _ slightly  _ amused. 

“Yes, well, about Dorothy-” she cuts herself off to put down her bag. “She was lowering the morale of the show.”

“How is that possible?” Fury asks, standing up. “What are you going to do now?” 

“Well, I was thinking you must have someone under contract. A local anchor, a reporter. I'll find someone. I'll promote from within.”

Fury contemplates the decision for a minute, then says, “It can't cost me a penny.”

She winces and offers, “What if I gave them one of my three pennies?”

“When Gast gave me your resume, he mentioned your ... _ perkiness.  _ He thought it might be enough to save the Bugle.” He walks over to the door, a dramatic solemnity bleeding from his aura. 

She bolsters herself. “It will be.” She isn't going to back down now. 

“Then get those ratings up.” 

* * *

And  _ that  _ was her first day of work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol thanks for giving this weird AU a chance, it'll get fun, I promise!   
> Keanu Reeves is Loki, what else can I say ahahaha

**Author's Note:**

> Didn’t know you needed a Daytime News/Morning Glory (2010) AU? Ha, neither did I!
> 
> But after the tragedy of Endgame, I just needed to write something happy and fun and dramatic with all my favorite Marvel characters (MCU and the Netflix shows but not AOS, sorry, never watched it). So I won’t get to include everyone but I will bloody well try. Also, I’ll be teasing out some crossover relationships that I always thought would be cool.
> 
> Thanks for giving this a chance and I hope you like it :)  
> 
> So the Grandmaster’s name is En Dwi Gast and so it wasn’t too hard to make that an Edwin Gast. The original character is played by Jeff Goldblum so I just could not resist.
> 
> I’m tagging this as T for now because it’s going to be mostly fluff and colleague/friend dynamics between Karen and Tony. Because they both deserve better friends.
> 
> But there might be some *cough*otherstuff*cough* since I did tag this with "Belligerent Sexual Tension"  
> Also, did anyone catch the fact that the elevator scene suited Kastle's meet-cute so perfectly? HA!


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